


Forget(Remember)

by AmALoaf



Category: Cars (Movies)
Genre: Cults, Doc's new in town, F/M, Fillmore is paralyzed from the mid-thighs, Filmore is Brazilian/Navajo/White, Let me know if y'all see typos, M/M, Mater is about 7 or so in this, Multi, Nudists, Sarge is half Vietnamese, Sarge struggles with his appearance a bit, Sheriff has a wife and a baby on the way, There is a lot of implied (and shown) nsfw stuff so stay safe kidds, also I'll be giving everyone hc names (I have backstories on my tumblr), pls don't read if your sensitive this isn't a lighthearted tale for the whole family, tragic backstory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2018-12-05 19:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11584965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmALoaf/pseuds/AmALoaf
Summary: Sarge wants to help Fillmore but can’t do it without context. An extremely drawn out quest of Sarge finding out Fillmore’s past. ((Takes place way in the past Sarge, Fillmore, Flo, and Ramone are in their 20s))





	1. Prolog

The past was something rarely mentioned in the house. Sarge had noticed that almost immediately. He and Fillmore never lived together in the traditional sense, often migrating between his bunker and Fillmore’s dome, but no matter what home they were in one rule remained the same; don’t ask about the past. Even when they were only just friends, a young Sarge fresh out of the marines and Fillmore only a few years new to Radiator Springs, the young hippy’s past was shrouded by mystery.

That wasn’t to say that Sarge allowed sleeping dogs to lie, no sir. Sergeant corporal George Khiem Henry Milton was many things, but a quitter wasn’t one of them. From context he knew two things about his significant other’s past: 1. That Fillmore had grown up spending a great deal of time with the town’s body artist, Ramone. The second was that Fillmore had a sister and two nephews living on a Navajo reserve somewhere upstate, he had seen her number, address, and a picture on the side of Fillmore’s fridge the first night they’d spent together. While the latter information intrigued him far more, it was apparent he could get more information by asking Ramone.

Sarge rolled over in bed and looked at Fillmore’s sleeping form. His large arms were folded close to his chest with his head pulled over them. It was the closest thing someone could make to a fetal position without using their legs. The lighting from the fairy strings he had around the room made his soft, curly hair glow and it fell around both of their pillows in gentle rings. He looked like a painting, beautiful, and soft around the edges. Sarge sighed and rolled on his back. “It’s gonna break his heart when he finds out what I’m doing.. but I can’t let him ignore his needs either,” he thought, his own heart cracking at the thought of Fillmore’s face when he found out. He glanced back at the huddled at his side. “I have to though, I’ve seen men go insane over nothing because they ignored blatant symptoms, because they thought they could handle it. Hell, had it not’ve been for Doc I might’ve been one of them.” Sarge let his eyes wander the ceiling where small flowers of all colors had been painted, and fell asleep thinking of his mission for tomorrow.


	2. Ch. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm apologizing for all Spanish in this I used google

The brass bell on the door of Ramone’s shop made a heavy “clang” sound when Sarge opened the door the following morning. The shop was empty, save for the owner and his wife. Flo was most definitely out of place with her silky, short bathrobe and when she turned to look at the door, taking her hands out of Ramone’s back pockets, it was apparent she had nothing but a pair of boxer shorts under it. Sarge stuffed his hands in his coat pockets ur kept his eyes on the couple for another minute.

“I can, uh.. come back later if this isn’t a good time.” He said gruffly, trying not to show his embarrassment at walking in on a lazy couple’s Sunday morning.

Ramone didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. Without taking his arm from around Flo’s waist he motioned Sarge in with a quick, “Don’t even worry about it, man! ‘S out own damn faults, forgot the sign said open for a minute, yknow?” Sarge came at the beckoning, standing as straight as he possibly could, pretending his face wasn’t as hot as it felt. “So what can I do you for, man?”

“If you don’t mind Ramone, I have a rather.. personal flavor to ask you.”

Ramone, seeing as how Sarge wasn’t leaving anytime soon, removed himself from his wife’s side and began cleaning his tools next to one of the reclining chairs. “That’s a very vague answer, general. Care to elaborate on that ‘favor’?” He put down one tool and picked up a tattooing needle, examining the points and motor. Flo sat gently in the accompanying chair, crossing her ankles and reclining slightly. Sarge locked eyes with Ramone before quickly glancing to Flo and back. Ramone stood confused for a moment before realizing what Sarge wanted. Fortunately, before her husband could say a word, Flo had seen the quick looks and stood.

“Sarge, honey, you coulda just asked“ she laughed, not seeming offended in the slightest to be kicked out. “You boys come by the diner when you’re all set and I’ll fix y’all up a good ol’ coffee, alright?” She pressed her lips to Ramone’s, flushing her round body against his. “And you make sure to stop by home, I’m not giving these back” she stage whispered, trailing her fingers up Ramone’s jacket. He grinned through heavy lidded eyes and nodded, keeping his hands on her a few beats longer than necessary. Sarge chose to pretend she was talking about anything other than the flame print boxers stretched over her large hips.

“Newly weds..” he muttered as she walked out of the shop, the bell clanking to signify her departure. “You got yourself a real price of work there, Ramirez.”

Ramone laughed, continuing to look dazed. Sarge swore he could see the stars in his eyes and the cartoon hearts above his head. “She’s worth every minute, man. But you’d know a thing or two about that wouldn’t you?”  
Sarge flushed red. “Shut your whore mouth. You don’t know anything.” Even as he said it he knew it wasn’t true. To be completely honest, Ramone probably knew more about him and Fillmore’s relationship than Sarge himself did.

“Alright, alright. Calm it general-”

“I was a Sergeant Corporal.”

“You came here for a favor?”

“Right, yeah, fuck.” Sarge leaned against a counter, thinking the best way to phrase the question now. He watched Ramone’s backs the artist set back to cleaning his instruments of the medium. “So, you and Fillmore grew up together, right?”  
Ramone’s back tensed through his tank top, the question freezing him for a split second. He recovered quickly, however, and went back to work. “Yes, we spent a good majority of our younger years together.”

“When did you meet him?”

“He was about eleven, I would’ve been about eight… so around eh…” Ramone began counting something in spanish. “About thirteen years ago? Seems like a lifetime ago, haha so much has changed.” He didn’t look up from his tools and offered no more information.

“Ramone I was wondering if you could tell me something about Fillmore.”

“Dios maldita sea! Jesus follando un pez y gustándolo!” Ramone cursed out before composing himself. “Are you not with him? Can you not ask him yourself?”

Sarge tensed. “Now hang on a second! Who in the good lords name told you I was ‘with’ anybody?” He shouted, annoyance with the situation bubbling in his chest.

Ramone stood ground. “Are you telling me you’re going to stand here, in *my* shop, and tell me there is nothing going on between you to? You’re honestly going to tell me when you push his wheelchair to the dome every night, every god given night, and you just go in you separate doors and golpea tu carne-” He made an all too familiar hand gesture with his cloth and the cylinder in his hand, “on your own, every night, at the exact same time?”

Sarge chose to ignore the main point and focus on the last part of the question. “Whaddyou mean, the same time..?”

“You know damn well. Flo and I work late not even fully down the street.” He stepped closer. “Fillmore lives in a hut.” Another step. “And god knows you’re a begging lil puta in the sheets, general.” One more step and they were at a confrontationally uncomfortable distance. Ramone’s usually bent knees and hunched posture were straightened to their full potential, and quickly Sarge forgets that Ramone is well over a foot taller than him. He held the artist’s stare for a few moments before turning away. Ramone sighed and visibly deflated. “It hurts him every time you deny it, Sargent. He’s lost a lot, and he’s worried he’ll lose you too.” He turned to look at the smaller man. “I think that’s gonna break him for good, man.”

Sarge didn’t look at Ramone. He turned away from him and faced the opposite wall, looking at his reflection in the salon mirror. He was only twenty-six, and already he looked like a man more than double his age. His yellowish, naturally pale skin was darkened by the unholy amounts of time he’d spent in the sun, it was more brown than anything now and it was peeling off around his nose. His hair was beginning to grow out again from not being developed, it’s grayish brown locks were thin and sticking out in odd places. His shoulders and hips jutted out strangely underneath his military jacket and jeans, never quite filling out the way they were supposed too. He took in his eyes last. Almond shaped and just slightly slanted, light brown. Sarge had always hated his eyes, his disgusting wrong eyes that he got from his mother. He hated that he’d never be the All American Boy his family had wanted him to be. The military hadn’t done a damned thing to make him anymore wanted, if anything the side effects of having nineteen confirmed kills under your belt just made him easier to push away. He turned his eyes too Ramone, whose big, blue puppy-dog eyes were watching him expectantly.

“He’s getting worse, Ramirez. Every day I see him falling apart and it kills me to see him like that. I know he needs help.”

“Then send him in the right direction. You found help back when you were a twitchy little trigger switch, I’m sure someone can help him.” He sighed. “I just don’t get why you have to be the one to help him.”

Sarge ran his hands through his too long hair. “I don’t have to be the only one, but I want to be there. You haven’t seen what I’ve seen. I had to sit a man go insane in a recovery ward because he lied about his condition. He wanted to do it on his own. Offed himself three days before his twenty-first birthday. You said it’d do Fillmore in to lose me? Imagine if I had to see that yet again, but this time with someone I lo- care about.”

Ramone shot him a look, the slip up didn’t get past him but he chose not to push it. “So what is it you need from me to help him?”

“I think Fillmore’s suffering from some pretty serious ptsd.” Sarge said, relieved they were getting somewhere. “It’s probably what’s contributing to his anxiety and causing deep psychological scarring.”

“Not to be a bitch, but why again do you need me for this?”

“Because, surprise surprise, our lovely little Fillmore won’t talk to me about last year, much less his tragic backstory. I know you’ve been around long enough to give us some semblance of what I’m dealing with here.”

“I-” Ramone was cut of by a familiar clank and a squeak of a wheelchair against the wood.

“Hey, dudes. Whatcha all talkin’ ‘bout?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c


	3. Ch. 2

Sarge turned to see Fillmore pushing his chair up next to him. It was hard not to look him in the eyes, even with the chair, Fillmore was almost to Sarge’s chin. He cursed his genetics again in his head. “Morning.. Fillmore. How’d you find us?”, Sarge asked even though he already knew the answer. 

“Flo said to move on out, coffee’s getting cold, man.” Fillmore turned to Ramone and Sarge flinched, the hippie was casually groping the soldiers ass with his less visible hand. Sarge stayed still but knew that the heat in his face was betraying him. 

“Yeah, we’ve been taking a little long, haven’t we general?”

Sarge grunted and tried to squirm away from Fillmore’s large hand. Fillmore only squeezed harder and gave him a ‘you're up to something and this is your punishment’ glance. “Well why we have breakfast together and you dudes can finish your conversation.” 

“We’re fine!” Sarge shouted, mentally slapping himself on every syllable. Now Fillmore would definitely know something was up. “I mean, I was just asking Ramone about some tattoo consultations and we got distracted talking, right?” He looked at Ramone helplessly. The artist nodded along, still shaken from the possibility of getting caught. 

“Well if you're all sure..” Fillmore looked at Sarge with his big fawn eyes and batted his lashes together subconsciously. “We could always just go off on our own?”

“Sounds fine.” Sarge held out his hand, clasping Ramone’s in a firm handshake. “We’ll talk later eh, Ramirez?”, he muttered. Ramone ushered them out with a quick ‘of course’ and began attending to the several customers already curating within the shop. 

Sarge swore he saw Fillmore frown at him, but when he turned Fillmore just motioned him along to the diner. They had sat themselves at their usual outdoor table and ordered before Fillmore finally spoke to him. “So, a tattoo, huh?”

Sarge continued staring a hole into his coffee. “Just a wild thought.” He grimaced as Fillmore sipped his black coffee and proceeded to add cream to his. “Maybe something patriotic. On my arm?” 

“Right.” Fillmore fiddled with his napkin in his lap. “Arms..” Fillmore’s hands shook a little when he raised his coffee cup. After a long sip he asked, “Sarge, honey?”

Sarge’s face pinched at the pet name, but he didn't address it. “Yeah, Fillmore?”

“Can you honestly tell me that you were only at Ramone’s for body-art?” Fillmore knew the answer to his question when Sarge sputtered out his coffee in a waterfall of answers pertaining to ‘NO of course that's all why would I lie why are you questioning me get off my case hippie”. The diner patrons within earshot turned to look at the racket. Flo, passing by to deliver a beverage to Ramone, gave the table a quick ‘Get it Under Control or Get it Out of My Diner’ lecture. They chose the later, with a dejected Fillmore following a huffy Sarge. 

On the last stretch of pavement between the main town and the surplus hut, Sarge heard the sound of sniffling that stopped him cold in his tracks. He turned and sure enough, the golden haired mess behind him was the cause of the noise. He watched for a minute as Fillmore pulled up in front of him. Sarge inhaled deeply, “I, I'm sorry for how I acted in the diner. I kno-”, he was cut off by Fillmore’s hand. 

“Let's go home, man.” Sarge normally would've clinched at the harshness in his lover’s voice, but he knew that he had deserved it and followed Fillmore down the walkway. He stopped when he realized that Fillmore had intentions of going into the surplus hut instead of his own domed tent-cave. He did not ask any questions, however, only closed to door. 

As soon as the knob clicked Fillmore began his interrogation. Sarge’s ears burned hot red with shame. He knew he was in trouble, and he hated the feeling. But what he hated most was the lecture. Fillmore moved around the ground floor, the only level accessible to him, talking himself into a frenzy. It was like watching an asylum patient go insane. Sarge walked around organizing shelves and display tables as he swerved between them and the ‘wheelchair of rage’. Despite his obvious embarrassment at the situation Sarge only caught every few words Fillmore was saying, he had missed his entire morning routine to talk with Ramone and the shop opened in ten minutes. Through the clank of dogtags and canteens, he heard the words ‘leaving’, ‘sneaking around’, and ‘lying’. In the rustling of army issued cargo pants and boots, he heard something about ‘being needed more than he knew’ and something about getting out of bed in the morning. He only really stopped at the glass section when Fillmore said, “I just don't know what Ramone’s giving you that I can't..”

“What did you just say?”

“That you're the reason I get out of bed nowadays?”

“No, no, what you just said!” 

“You mean about Ramone?” Fillmore saw anger flash across Sarge’s face. “Well what else could you have been up to asking for a ‘personal favor’ from the only other openly queer man in town, George? And then you ask his wife to leave you two alone for more than thirty minutes? Don't gape at me, man, Flo told me everything. I know you, and believe me that was plenty of time to get *that* disheveled.” He motioned to Sarge's stuck up hair and wrinkled clothing. Sarge suddenly became very aware of the somewhat visible hickeys peeking through his shirt collar. Even if Fillmore was the one to put them there, it still wasn't helping the image in Sarge's favor. The tattoo excuse was long out the window, Sarge himself could even believe that lie. The only real option seemed be coming clean, he was fucked either way. 

“Alright, you caught me. I wasn't at Ramone’s for a tattoo consultation.” Seeing Fillmore's face he quickly added, “But I can promise you I'm not having an affair either, swear on my life.” 

Fillmore visibly relaxed, Sarge wasn't one to take promises lightly. “Then wha, what were you doing if not that, man?”

“I was..” Sarge stuttered over his words. “I was.. asking him about, your.. past. Since you two grew up together?” Sarge did his best to face Fillmore, but he always found himself weakened around the larger man. Fillmore looked at him blankly, his mind refusing to comprehend what he was being told. When it finally came through to him what Sarge had just said, his face held incomprehensible amounts of fear and his voice came out just barely above a whisper. 

“What did he tell you?”

“If it's any consolation, not a damned thing. Whatever you're hiding, it's still safely hidden.” He hadn't meant it to come out so condescending, but Sarge was sick of the secrets. “But what I'd like to know, why everyone else in town seems to have enough knowledge to be *able* to keep this big of a secret from me? Do you not trust me enough, is that it?”

“Sar-” 

“Don't answer, I already know.”

“Geor-”

“DO. NOT. Call me that!” Sarge hissed, his voice cracking with anger. “DON’T YOU EVER CALL ME THAT FUCKING NAME, EVER!” 

“Sarge would you please look at you hand, man!” It wasn't like Fillmore to yell, and it compelled Sarge to look at the appendage in question. In his anger, Sarge had taken the glass object in his hand, some sort of delicate sculpture, and crushed it in with his fist. He could see Fillmore’s concern, his hand was gushing blood and was quite obviously needed stitches. Worse, however, was the fact that the objects behind him weren't for sale, they were being sent off to the Mater’s kid for a base cleaning and polish. That was to say, they were caked high with dirt, dust, and whatever else had been on them before being shipped to him. He looked at Fillmore hopelessly, who grabbed his uninjured hand and led him to the new doctor’s office

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:3c


	4. Hey remember this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I literally never update. I saw an ask on tumblr asking me to update from like for months ago and it's 4 in the morning so why not.

 

The new doctor in town, Doc, was kind enough. He picked out the glass in Sarge’s hand and bandaged it without saying more than three word to either of them. He made fast work of it and before either of them knew, one tetanus shot and and a wise sounding “be more careful next time” later, they were back on the street left to awkwardly walk home.

Sarge couldn’t even pretend to look at Fillmore. He just clenched his fists until his bandaged hand stung to distract himself as he stormed back to his store. Fillmore spoke to his back.

“So we’re not even gonna talk about this?” Sarge could hear the uneven sound of Fillmore’s wheelchair moving over the rugged terrain. If he were a better man he would go back and at least have the decency to push his partner back to his hut. However, he was just too angry to give a damn about anything regarding Fillmore so he made the show of loudly stomping his feet back to the surplus garage. At least Fillmore was kind enough not to call after him.

Doug “Mater” Keever was waiting inside the door when he went inside. He had some idea of why he was here, so Sarge brushed past him in favor of helping an old woman who was looking at some of the various scrap he kept in the back of the store. She soon left with a sturdy copper pipe, though, and Sarge was forced to acknowledge the other man’s presence.

“Doug.” He nodded in his direction.

“Sarge.” Doug seemed to consider him for a moment before deciding to continue. “I hear y’alls havin’ relationship issues.” He stated bluntly. Sarge glared at him from over a display table, he had never had and issue with Mater or his family (in fact they were currently the only outed gay couple in the town who had yet to be stricken by misfortune, which Sarge took some comfort in), but that didn’t mean there wasn’t any reason to start. Especially if they wanted to start sticking their grimy noses were they didn’t belong. Mater put his hands up in defense, though his cheeky smile certainly didn’t go unnoticed, “Now, now I di’nt mean nuthin’ by it ya know me Sarge. But I can’t safely say I hadn’t been in your shoes before and thought yous could use a helpin’ hand in all that drama.”

“I haven’t a clue about what in God’s name your talking about.”, he lied. Maybe, if Sarge was lucky, he could maybe not have the entire town find out about what goes on his bedroom before the day ends. “In case you haven’t noticed I’m just a simple man living a single, bachelor life in a up-and-coming pitstop town. I’m not exactly the settling down type.” Another lie. “Besides, even if I was having issues, which I’m not, why would you be any help, I mean it’s not like we have anything… in common.” Even Sarge couldn’t deny how full of shit he sounded. Mater just chuckled, a deep but warm sound that came from the chest, and looked at Sarge with a mix of amusement and pity.

“Y'know Sarge, denial’s a big ol’ parta the comin’ out process. I won’t deny I spent years fightin’ myself at e’ry turn ‘cause I felt I hadda be sumn’ I wasn’t.” Sarge stiffened at his words, his shoulders pulling back and his spine going rigid. “I’m jus’ tellin’ ya, it doesn’t havta be that way for ya. Radiator Springs is safe, ain’t nobody gon’ be able to touch ya here, you can jus’.. be yerself.” Mater said as he watched Sarge, hoping for some sort of recognition or even just a show that he was listening.

Sarge expertly kept his eyes trained on the wall. He kept his arms crossed, voice dangerously low and whispered, “Get the fuck out of my shop before you regret making assumptions that you know a damned thing about me."

Mater sighed. “Aight, then. Have a good resta ya day, Sarge.” Mater began to walk out but paused in the doorway, “Woulda at leas’ think bout what I-” he was cut up by Sarge slamming the door behind him and removed the sign on the window that said “Open” to “Out to Lunch”. He watched Mater regard the sign before walking off his property, slight disappointment clear in his posture. 

‘Good. Serves him right for trying to breach my privacy.’ Sarge thought. He finally felt like he had a second to breath, like he had been holding his breath since the tattoo parlor. He realized he hadn’t even gotten dressed this morning and was still just in his sweatpants and jacket. His watch told him it was almost 12:30. Lunch break shower it is.

….

A shower really did do wonders on him. He finally looked halfway respectable, his hair combed and his oddly colored skin at least clean. Fresh clothes and he was practically a new man. No other residents came to the shop for the rest of the business day, so he could rest easy helping customers and negotiating prices. He even caught a shoplifter, a sniveling teen with greasy hair growing past his collar that had tried to shove some blank dog tags into his pocket. He felt a small sense of pride handing the boys apologetic parents a pamphlet for a correctional military camp and watching the kids face twist in horror.

A small part of his brain told him Fillmore would be disappointed, and that he should of been more forgiving. He pushed those thoughts away, after all he had a business to run.

It wasn’t until he closed up for the night that he was suddenly aware of how hungry he was, and how empty his kitchen was of any nutritional substance. ‘Normally I eat at Fillmore’s’ he thought miserably as he closed another cabinet after no food had materialized between the last five minutes he had checked. ‘‘Flo’s can’t be THAT busy. I’ll just get something to go.’’

He was right in a sense; Flo’s cafe was having a fairly slow night, it was just housing everyone Sarge was trying to avoid. Ramone sat on a barstool, trying to start a conversation with the new doctor. The town sheriff was having a malt on the doctors other side, and Doc seemed to be warming up to him much better. Mater sat with his husband, Carlo, and their kid Toby, (who they just called “Tow” since the poor kids lisp made it hard to pronounce his own name and they just couldn’t resist the pun to their profession) at an outside table. Tow was talking loudly about some sort of lizard he had seen and was spraying food whenever he talked. Scattered townsfolk and shopkeepers lounged around, relaxing after another busy workday. The worst of it though, was Fillmore sat in his and Sarge’s normal table, forlornly picking through a salad. It was enough to make Sarge up and leave, but before he could try and slip away Flo called from the doorway, making everyone in the restaurant look his way.

“Hey there General! The usual?” She shouted, and by the coy grin on her face, Sarge just knew she and Ramone had planned something. He faked a half smile and shouted back, “Yes, if you don’t mind!”, before stomping up to sit at the bar next to Ramone.

Doc took notice of the new patron and leaned over, “How’s your hand doin’, Sargent?” Sheriff immediately noticed Sarge’s hand, which had begun to show stains of blood through the bandaging. 

“Woof, how’d you get that, Sarge?”, he asked, voice laced with trace amounts of concern through his malt.

“Grabbed a figurine too rough and it shattered in my hand. It’s doing much better though Doctor, thanks.” Sarge replied. “I’ll change the bandaging again tonight, I think.”, he added quickly before the doctor could lecture him on taking care of his wound.

“Good. Make sure to disinfect it as well.” He said before adding, “Oh, and you can just call me Doc, no need to be so formal.”

“Just Doc, huh?” Ramone said as Flo placed a hearty red stew with a glass of water in front of Sarge and sliding a ham sandwich to Doc. “Does that come with a story?” Ramone added with a grin, “or do we have to crack your cold facade first?”

“Maybe my origins will be revealed in due time.” Doc said evenly as he took a sandwich half in his hands. “But for now let’s enjoy the lovely food that’s been placed before us.”

‘Amen’ Sarge thought. He could feel Fillmore’s eye glancing over his back and he wanted to be gone as soon as physically possible. Just when he began to gulp down his last few spoonfuls he felt a large, warm, familiar hand on his back. He turned his head just enough to regard Fillmore but made no effort to make conversation. Ramone and Doc both glanced at them, smugly and curiously, respectively, before politely turning away. Sheriff, never one for social graces, made no such niceties, watching them over Doc’s shoulder.

“Ge- Sarge, do you think we could talk now?” Fillmore asked, his voice gentle.

Sarge thought about it for a moment before answering, “No. I don’t think I’m ready yet.” It wasn’t a complete lie, but just enough of one to make him feel bad all the same for not working through these relationship issues. “Just… give me time.” Fillmore removed his hand and began to turn the wheelchair around and leave the room.

Sarge couldn’t stand watching him go. Even his hand being removed from Sarge’s back made his heart ache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to update this again soon! ALSO the mater being referenced in the story is the FATHER of the mater in the movies. Tow/Toby is the movie mater who takes his fathers name. Msg me on my tumblr @emthewalkingparadox if you want to know more.

**Author's Note:**

> :3


End file.
